A Little Joke
by Aitrus5
Summary: It is apparently April Fool's Day on Myst Island....


A Little Joke.   
  
Catherine grunted as the shovel dug into the earth beneath her bare feet. She liked   
feeling the dirt between her toes. Atrus would have glared at her if she'd tracked mud   
into the library. Too bad.   
Panting, she dug around Anna's grave as respectfully as she could. "I'm sorry,   
Anna." she smiled, patting the earth. "But this will make you much more beautiful."   
She dug about 8 inches down all along the grave site, then took off her gloves and   
knelt. One by one, she dropped the seeds in at 1 inch intervals. "And you, and you,   
and you." she murmured. Flipping her feathered braids back, she surveyed her work   
and smiled. Come next season there would be blue flowers like no other on Myst.   
She eyed the afternoon sun and wondered how her boys were doing. By the boys, she   
meant both her children and her husband, for it seemed he reverted to the age of ten   
when he went out exploring with them. Still, she was glad for it. The children gave him   
a chance to re-explore his own childhood, where he had not been able to indulge in   
even simple play. The harsh life of the desert had not availed him that luxury. She, by   
contrast, had had the entire Rivenese village to play with and sometimes had ached for   
a room of her own, let alone a private stretch of beach where she could be alone with   
the world.   
Swatting at mayflies that zipped around her sweating head, she returned to the cabin   
and stripped off her dirty clothes and put on her usual Rivenese clothing. She'd tried   
to wear a typical D'ni outfit once, to please Gehn, and found it so unpleasant to her   
eye that she'd immediately shorn it.   
Atrus had about as much eye for clothing as he did for decor. If it had sleeves and   
some buttons, he'd wear it.   
She laughed as she remembered her sister and she trying on their father's official robes   
and strutting around trying to look important. "I'm not just a plain fisherman,   
therefore I don't have to dress like one." he used to say, within earshot of his   
fisherman friends, whom her mother would then have to calm down with a laugh and a   
swift kick to his shin. They'd stuffed the chest at the foot of his bed with ytrams and   
laughed their fool heads off when he screamed in surprise as he discovered his   
important clothing covered in a thick layer of ytram droppings. Not to mention the   
sight of a hundred ytrams hopping around and croaking madly and their father   
hopping from one foot to the other and shouting for their lives.   
She grinned. An idea was forming in her head. Two or three, in fact.   
She hurried to the library, the grin growing wider with anticipation.   
  
"Ow! Father, I said I was sorry!"   
They walked, practically stalked through the tall grass of Overon. The sky was a crisp   
blue and the tall peaks of mountains argued for space on the horizon to the west. It   
had been a good day for exploring.   
Now, Atrus had one hand on Sirrus's wrist and one hand around Achenar's and was   
walking faster than the either small boy could keep up. His Father's face frightened   
him. He'd seen his Father irritated, disgruntled and frustrated. Never angry. But he   
was angry now.   
"Sirrus, another word out of you and I'll write an Age with nothing but monsters and   
demons and horrible things and I'll have you link in and the Maker help me, you're not   
getting a linking book to come back."   
"Yeah!" piped up Achenar. He was enjoying himself immensely.   
"Be quiet!" yelled Sirrus. He kicked dirt at his brother, and was nearly swept off his   
feet by the effort. "It was just a joke." he whined. "I don't understand!"   
Atrus sighed. Had he ever this foolish? No, he decided. He couldn't afford to be in   
the cleft.   
Achenar grinned and stuck his tongue out.   
"Stop that! Faaaather!"   
"Achenar, don't tease your brother."   
Achenar forehead rose up and he pouted.   
"Don't play innocent with me, young man. I suspect you had a part to play in this   
little joke as well."   
"No I didn't!" protested Achenar.   
"Yeah, he told me to do it!" exclaimed Sirrus.   
"Shut your mouth, or I'll shut it for you. He's always fibbing, Father!"   
"Yeah, and you always believe me!"   
"Quiet, both of you!" Atrus stopped and let both of them go.   
They ceased arguing and looked at each other fearfully as Atrus knelt down to look at   
them both, placing a hand on each of their shoulders.   
He eyed them both very sternly. "I am very serious when I say this, my sons. If   
anything like this ever happens again, you will not be allowed to visit any of the Ages.   
Ever again."   
"Never, never?" whispered Sirrus.   
"Never, never." nodded Atrus solemnly. "What you did could have had very serious   
consequences."   
"What's a consequence?"   
Achenar cuffed him on the back of he head. "It's like when you do something bad,   
and you get punished."   
"Very good, Achenar." Atrus said. "But no more hitting your brother, all right?"   
"All I did was hide the book!" Sirrus protested, tears starting to brim.   
"And how were we to get back home? Suppose something had happened to you, the   
Maker forbid it, and the book were to be lost? What if you'd forgotten where you hid   
it?"   
Atrus watched his son's eyes widen in fear. "We can't go home without the book?"   
He shook his head solemnly, gripping his son's small arm. "No, we can't, Sirrus. We   
would have been trapped here, forever."   
"Couldn't you have just written another book to link us back home?" asked Achenar.   
"No, Achenar. The books need to be written in the places they are going to link too."   
"But..." Sirrus's face screwed up in thought. "You don't do that when you write.   
You're home when you write."   
Atrus smiled, as he always did when his sons because inquisitive. "That is when I   
write the book that originally describes the Age I want to go. It is called a komahn, a   
Descriptive Book."   
"So...um...why can't you de-scribe home?" asked Achenar.   
"Because I have already written that Age in another book, Achenar. This may seem   
hard to understand, but eventually, you will. Once you have written the Age, you   
cannot do it again, for it will not link to the Age you think it will. It will be different."   
By now the looks on the boys faces were thoroughly confused. He laughed. "Any   
questions?"   
"So..." Achenar thought as he spoke slowly. "How...how come you can write as many   
small books as you want? They're just like the big ones, only less detail...right?"   
"Yes..." Atrus said slowly. "And they have to be written inside the Age they will link   
too. Remember, Achenar, and you too, Sirrus. Each time you write and Age, you must   
make a   
korvahkh, a linking book. As many as you need, for you never know when you may   
have to leave in a hurry. These are very good questions, Achenar. You're obviously   
paying attention to your lessons."   
Sirrus looked from his beaming brother to his father. He'd long ago stopped paying   
attention and wondered why they were still here. He was hungry.   
"Any questions, Sirrus?"   
"What's for dinner?"   
Atrus laughed and fondled his sons heads. "Remember boys, I love you very much,   
but the Ages are not toys. My books are not playthings. Understand?"   
"Yes, Father." they intoned together.   
"All right then. Now, who can recite their numbers the fastest? One through ten,   
quickly now!"   
The brothers looked at each other and sighed, rolling their eyes.   
Atrus grinned. "Go!"   
"Fah, ree, ehn, tor, vaht, vahgahfah, vahgahbree, vahgahdehn, vagahtor, nayvoo!"   
they said, eyeing one another, gasping when they finished.   
"I win!" said Sirrus.   
"It's a stupid game anyway." muttered Achenar.   
"And what is zero?" asked Atrus. "Come now..." he said when he met silence. "I know   
we went over this before."   
"Roon!" piped Sirrus triumphantly after a few seconds.   
".....Roon." Achenar followed glumly. He kicked Sirrus in the shins to make himself   
feel better.   
"Faaaaather!"   
Atrus's head hurt. He stared up at the growing clouds until he saw dragons.   
"Time to go home, my sons."   
  
  
"Well, they're finally asleep. If I have tell the story of the lizard, the jackal, and the   
three squees once more, I'm going to go out of my mind." Atrus stared out the door   
of the library, unconsciously noting constellations he could enter into his observatory.   
"By the Maker, I don't know how you do it, Catherine." He leaned against the wall   
of the library, kicking off his boots.   
"Do what, my love?" she smiled at him, knowing at least the basics of the answer.   
"Everything!" He threw up his hands.   
"Well, it is a challenge." she laughed. "But one with many rewards." She kissed him,   
feeling his beard tickle her chin. "Come, let's get you out of these dirty clothes."   
"I cannot wait to get back to my writing." he said, sinking into a soft chair. "At least   
with the Art I can control what goes into each and every phrase."   
"Says the man who put a ship in the middle of the rock."   
He pulled her down sitting across his lap, giving her a slight slap on her rear. "Quiet, or   
I'll send you to an Age filled with nothing but 5 year olds."   
She put her hand over her mouth and giggled. "By the Maker, not that! Oh, Lord   
Atrus, I beg your forgiveness. I, a humble Rivenese should not even be looking my   
Lord in his noble D'ni eyes."   
They laughed quietly, gazing into each other's eyes, then snuggled by the fire.   
  
It was night, and Atrus slid quietly out of bed, hoping against all hope, that she would   
not awaken. She hated waking without him there, said that it was bad enough he was   
at his desk half the day, he didn't need to be going to the library at night as well.   
He glanced back at her as he quietly slid the door shut, hearing her murmur in her   
sleep.   
He tiptoed until he was on the main path, then headed up the slight hill to the library.   
Didn't she understand that sometimes, a writer just had to write when the mood   
struck?   
It didn't matter if the sun was falling or the seas were boiling, he was going to   
write!Besides, he grumbled. It was his library. Who was she to command his   
schedule?   
He entered, breathing in the musty smell of books, the rich scent of leather, of paper   
and ink. The smell of dreams waiting to come to life. This was where he felt the most   
content.   
Atrus sat down at his desk, planting himself firmly in the seat, and drew a crisp sheet   
of paper from the stack with his left hand.   
It stuck fast.   
He stared. That had never happened before.   
Shaking it barely produced a ripple. When he tried to rip it away with his other hand,   
finger-tip sized bits came off with it and stuck to his right hand.   
"The boys..." he growled. His boys had obviously been playing in his laboratory   
again.   
He ripped the paper to shreds, bits of it still sticking to his arms and fingers, and   
exhaled sharply. Trying to ignore the feeling, he carefully withdrew another sheet of   
paper, and grinned triumphantly when it didn't stick.   
"Finally." he said, and bent a brand new pen to the paper.   
The minute he pressed, it snapped off at the nib.   
He frowned. This was not a good omen.   
Atrus shrugged. Sometimes the Branch you walk on is a little shaky, as the common   
D'ni saying went.   
He withdrew another pen from his pile within the desk, pressed it to the sheet of paper.   
  
SNAP.   
Now his eyes widened. "Something odd is happening here." he said out loud.   
He grabbed another pen and tried to scribble with it. It snapped off just like the rest   
had.   
He tried another one.   
"What in the Maker's name...?"   
And another one.   
And still another one.   
All 23 of his pens snapped off at the nib. Ink splattered his fingers and metal piles   
littered the desk. His hands were covered with sticky paper.   
Two little boys were going to be in SO much trouble tomorrow.   
Exasperated, he gripped the arms of his chair and lifted himself up.   
And swore in astonishment as the chair came with him.   
"Catherine!" he whispered frantically, praying somehow that against all known laws of   
the D'ni, the wind would carry his whispered words down 50 feet of hill.   
He staggered towards the door, trying desperately to keep his balance hunched over,   
and trying to make a mental note to find the formula of the glue that was currently   
welding him to the chair.   
"Catherine!" he said hoarsely. "Catherine, I need help!"   
Atrus made it to the door and groaned when he heard a loud bang. He tried again to   
walk   
through the door, hunched over. Once again, he couldn't fit.   
BANG!   
"CATHERINE!"   
And then thunder boomed overhead.   
  
Opening her eyes, Catherine laughed silently to herself in the night as she heard her   
husband's voice trickle down to the cabin under the rain. She rolled over and spread   
her arms and legs out wide, sighing in contentment at the feel of her own bed, her own   
room.   
She closed her eyes and giggled as she fell back asleep. Let the boys find him.   
She'd sleep in tomorrow.   
  
The End. 


End file.
